


the truth or something beautiful

by blackwayfarers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwayfarers/pseuds/blackwayfarers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh," Liam says like he's been hit in the sternum, turning to Zayn with his eyes wide and running his hands back through his hair. "Oh my God, that's it. Your family, they must have thought – like, because you invited me back home for Christmas and, oh, God – they think we're boyfriends."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the truth or something beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Some dopey accidental boyfriends Christmas cheer. Thanks to H for her beta. Title from Paloma Faith.

The taxi pulls up outside Zayn's family home at a quarter past eight at night. The whole thing is done up in fairy lights, outlining each edge of the roof and windows like a glittering wire frame of red and white and green. There's no snow on the ground yet, but the crooked lightning bolts of bare trees and whip of cold wind make the night feel wintery enough, Liam snapping the collar of his peacoat a little closer.

Liam hauls his single suitcase out of the taxi, pays for a fifteen pound fare with a couple of twenties, and wishes the driver a happy Christmas as he shuts the door. Standing there on the gravel drive and looking up at the glowing cathedral of the Malik home feels slightly odd, like Liam has been called here for a reason he's not sure he understands. 

It had initially been Liam's idea that they meet up over their Christmas holidays, but he was thinking more like catching dinner in London together, not spending three days at Zayn's family home the week before Christmas. But Zayn asked in such a typically _Zayn_ way – that shyness he still has sometimes despite the two years of friendship under their belts, rubbing the back of his neck and talking about how his mum said she'd love to have Liam up for a little bit and he can come if he wants but he really doesn't need to it just might be nice to have some time with him alone from everyone else but you're probably really busy don't worry about it pretend I never asked – that Liam had to say yes, if only just to get Zayn to give him that huge smile and stop acting like he was sixteen again and three days late joining them all at Harry's bungalow.

Liam has been here before, but only once, back when Zayn had been shopping around for a new flat for his family and Liam had tagged along. Back then it had been empty rooms with hardwood floors, a kitchen done out in brushed nickel and black marble, and a beautiful rose window over the front door that – when Liam pointed it out – had sealed the deal. Now, though, it's brilliant and cosy; every window lit up, a smell of fireplace woodsmoke, the noise of laughter and music radiating from inside. 

Snapping his lapels again and habitually patting his short, fuzzy hair, Liam clears his throat and knocks on the door three times. Immediately there's a screech and a shout – _He's here!_ – and the sound of many feet running to the front door. Liam grins.

"You are so daft," is the first thing Tricia says when she opens the door. Huddled up behind her are Zayn's three sisters, and, way in the back, Zayn himself. "We could have picked you up at the train station, love."

"Didn't want to put you out," Liam says, biting his bottom lip. "Hi , Mrs. Malik."

"Tricia, really, I've told you a thousand times," she says, slapping Liam's shoulder gently before pulling him in for a hug. Liam can see Zayn groan and roll his eyes from down the hall. "Your hair's so short!"

Liam feels his cheeks pink. "Rather fancied it."

"You look so old," Tricia says. "I hardly recognize you and I only saw you a few months ago. Come in, then. _Girls_ ," she says warningly, clearing a space for Liam to walk in.

Liam gets an armful of each of Zayn's sisters as soon as he steps inside; Safaa, smallest, around his legs and Doniya and Waliyha on either side. "Hey, guys," Liam says, _oof_ ing as Safaa clings on to him, her head smacking into his stomach. "It's been ages."

"September," Safaa says, not letting go even as her sisters back off.

"You've grown a foot," Liam says, patting Safaa's head. "Look at you, you're so beautiful."

"Don't," Zayn says from the back, "or she'll never let go."

Slowly, his hands sheepishly shoved into his pockets, Zayn makes his way to Liam. He's wearing a white Oxford cotton shirt, black waistcoat, and black trousers with sharply ironed creases – Liam can almost hear Zayn's mum yelling at him to dress nicely for the arrival. His hair is down, making him look soft and teenage, the sharp blond streak almost silver where it peeks between the black. He gives a shrug and Liam grins at him. They've only been apart from a week but with his boys sometimes even a week feels like too long, a habit Liam doesn't want to break. 

"Hey, man," Zayn says.

"Hey," Liam replies.

Their hug starts out friendly, a good natured back-slapping embrace, but it quickly becomes something closer and a little more needy, Zayn squeezing Liam tightly around his sides and shoulders. His sisters are giggling in the background, covering their faces as they whisper out the sides of their mouths. Liam can only just see them, his face buried as it is in Zayn's shoulder and the smell of his cologne, and underneath that the normal smell of him, cigarettes and coffee and something undeniably _Zayn_. The girls keep pointing at them and laughing, never so much as when Liam pats Zayn's cheek gently as they pull apart.

"Shut it," Zayn says, giving a sharp glance over his shoulder at his sisters. "They've been talking about you all day. I already can't stand you." Zayn gives a crooked little smile, and Liam pokes him in the stomach.

"Safaa," Tricia says, patting the youngest girl on the back, "bedtime now. I said you could stay up until Liam arrived. Say goodnight."

"Goodnight," Safaa says, going suddenly shy again.

Liam gives her a little wave and then she goes off running upstairs.

"Are you hungry?" Tricia says, turning to Liam again.

"No, thank you, I'm fine," Liam says. He has always loved Zayn's family and their big, tangled lives all loud and loving. Liam has never had much experience with this kind of dynamic, his own family too small and gentle, but it's so easy to fall in love with the teasing, the smell of brewing tea, how quickly he's adopted as one of their own.

"Yes, he is," Zayn says, elbowing Liam gently in the side. "He's just too polite to say he is."

"Good, take off your coat and I'll make you a plate. Do you eat lamb?"

"Thanks, yeah, I do," Liam says, unbuttoning his double-breasted coat as Zayn takes his suitcase and puts it at the bottom of the staircase. Zayn's sisters abandon them for the living room soon after, leaving Liam and Zayn in the suddenly empty hallway.

"Sorry about the –"

"They're great," Liam says, smiling again as Zayn hangs his coat up in the hall closet. The girls are listening to Rihanna, and, judging from the periodic thumps and yelling, they must be practicing some kind of dance routine. Family photos line the walls, all of them with ridiculously expensive frames (Liam was there for that purchase too,) big black squares of an enormous clan all linked in arms. Despite being home for only three days Liam, can see a few of Zayn's coats in the closet, his shoes, one of his scarves wound around the banister. "You really chose a great place. It's exactly the kind of house – it's the kind of house I'd want to live in, when I've got kids."

"Yeah," Zayn says, looking down at the ground and then back up at Liam. There's something about him being at home that has him exposed and kowtowed, like he's suddenly lost the tattoo and cigarette invulnerability of cool. Here he just seems like some dumb teenage kid home from University for the holidays, a little bruised from travel but happy to be back. Liam really loves it a lot, amazed at how clearly he can imagine going to school with this kind of smaller, quieter Zayn, the two of them wrapped up in scarves and skipping class to get a coffee. "Sorry my dad couldn't be here, he's visiting his brother. He'll be back tomorrow."

"It's really fine. You're already doing too much," Liam says, and he might be the nice one but there's only so long his pleasant houseguest act will hold up when it's just the two of them. He feels himself relax almost at once, maybe just because of how loose and adolescent Zayn seems right now. "Your mum make you wear that?"

Zayn huffs out a laugh. "Like you haven't seen me in a hoodie and torn jeans before. I swear, it's like the fucking Queen is coming with the cleaning and cooking she's been doing. I mean, it's only you." He adds a little smile at the end, like Zayn is making sure Liam knew he was joking.

"Just trying to be a good hostess, I think," Liam says. "You're looking sharp, man."

"Thanks," Zayn says, dodging the compliment with the shrug of one shoulder. "I hope you brought a suit too."

"Why?" Liam says, unlacing his black leather brogues and putting them in the hall closet next to Zayn's combat boots. 

"Mum's insisting on going to the Alderman. It's the fanciest restaurant around. It's awful," Zayn adds, though Liam can tell it's a little of the bad boy posturing now that Zayn's at his most vulnerable, under the teasing thumb of his family. "It's the kind of place where you drop three hundred quid and still have to pick up McDonald's on the way home 'cause you're starving."

"Sounds great."

"It's not," Zayn says.

"Am I going to meet your whole family, then?" Liam asks, curling his socked toes into the beautiful Isfahan rug stretching through the hallway, the same one he helped Zayn pick out at Harrods.

"God, I hope not," Zayn says. "Then they'd all fucking love you too and I'm going to spend the rest of my life hearing from my aunties about what a good boy you are and why can't I be more like you."

"Yeah, well," Liam says, burying his smile as best he can. "I didn't even think to bring a suit. Can I borrow one of yours?"

"Yeah, then I'll get to hear how much better you wear it than me," Zayn says, but he's laughing a little.

"I don't know what to tell you," Liam says, poking a socked toe against Zayn's ankle, catching Zayn's eye just to make sure he picks up on the sarcasm. Liam was never very good at sarcasm. "I just don't know how to stop being great." 

"Yeah, man, sure" Zayn says, fingertips just brushing the small of Liam's back, easing him inside. "Come in, I'm sure there are loads of embarrassing photos of me as a child you wanna see." 

"You know me so well."

*

After a late dinner of roast lamb and asparagus, a coffee doctored with a cheeky dash of Tia Maria and thick whipped cream, a slice of blueberry cheesecake, and an insistent demand that Liam watch Waliyha's dance routine set to Rihanna's _Only Girl in the World_ (Zayn catches Liam's eye during the performance and they grin at each other, the memory surfacing hot and brilliant in Liam's chest), Liam is finally shown to his bedroom.

Zayn leads the way up the staircase – polished white maple hardwood, slippery with socks and worse when Liam tugs at the backs of Zayn's trouser legs, making him kick back childishly – to the far end of the hall. 

"Mum's insisting you take the guest room," Zayn says, flicking on the light. The room is nice, done up in cream and sky blue, dominated by a King-size bed with matte brass finishes, a large street-facing window veiled in snowy lace coloured by the Christmas lights outside. "Sorry it's so – uh – pastel."

Liam gives it a thumbs up, though it does kind of remind him of a cottage bed and breakfast. "It's great. It's amazing."

"She refused point blank to let us bunk together," Zayn says, sliding Liam's suitcase next to the bed, "even though we fucking _live_ together ninety-percent of the time."

"Because your room is a disaster," Doniya says, leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom, the next one down the hall. "You've been here three days and you've already wrecked it."

"I've been living out of a bag for months," Zayn says without even turning to look at her. "I needed some space to spread out."

"I bet you'd clear up if it meant Liam could sleep there," Doniya says, laughing but not mocking. "Must suck."

Zayn still doesn't turn, but the tips of his ears pink slightly. "That has nothing to do with that. It's not even that messy." Zayn's jaw is clenched a little as he speaks. "Mum just wants to use the guest bedroom for the first time."

"It's all right," Liam says, wading cheerfully into this sibling scuffle. Liam knows that Zayn loves his sisters – hell, they don't even sound that angry, more the playful rivalry of habit like they're falling back to where they were before Zayn left – but he also knows that they can poke Zayn in just the right spot, they know his weak points even better than the boys. "We live together all the time. Might be nice having my own bed. It's not such a big deal."

Doniya gives one loud _ha_ of a laugh. "Sure, yeah. Well, mum and dad are way at the other end of the hall so once everyone's in bed no one's going to stop you."

Liam pauses then, feeling like he missed something important tucked into the silences in the conversation. Zayn's jaw is still tight, and the heat is still high in his cheeks, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly at Liam. Doniya, though, just looks very pleased with herself before she retires into her own bedroom, closing the door behind her.

"Night, Dee," Zayn shouts. Even though Liam has no actual clue what strange electricity just jumped between them all, Zayn's tone still sounds loving, if not a little warning.

"Goodnight, Zayn," Doniya replies, his voice muffled. 

"Your sisters are amazing," Liam says as Zayn sighs and unbuttons his shirt down to his sternum like he needs air. "Very strange, though. Your parents are down the hall?"

"Yeah, I don't know," Zayn says, waving it off quickly even though Liam can tell the thorny tangle of it is still bothering him. "She says a lot of strange things. I don't know why we pay any attention." Zayn pauses, chewing a thumbnail. "But, you know, you could – like, no, never mind. I mean, if you hung out in my room I'm sure mum wouldn't care, but. It's not even." Liam knows from experience that sometimes sentences can turn into mush, but this is getting a little extreme. "Forget everything that just happened, okay?"

"I can do that," Liam says. 

"My sister talks a lot of bollocks," Zayn says.

"I know she does," Liam says, patting Zayn's shoulder even though he doesn't know why.

"My room's not that messy," Zayn says, his body shifting now in a little paranoid wiggle Liam remembers Zayn getting when he's stoned or anxious.

"I know it's not," Liam says, and he knows he should be the good friend right now but looking at Zayn all awkward and flushed and shifty because of his sister is so endearing that Liam wants to laugh. "I believe you. I do."

"Mum just wants you to sleep in the guest room," Zayn says, nodding and finally giving Liam a crooked, slightly uneasy smile. "Which is fine, I guess."

"Sure," Liam says.

"So, uh, goodnight, then?" Zayn asks, his gold eyes flickering up to meet Liam's.

"Night, dude," Liam says, giving him a tight hug. Zayn doesn't quite relax into it, but Liam can feel Zayn's sigh warm on his skin, the sharp sniff as Zayn touches his mouth to the crook of Liam's shoulder momentarily. As they pull apart, Liam rubs Zayn's tummy just a little, a playful touch goodbye. For a split second, Zayn's expression suddenly changes, his eyes going wild and then softening, a huffy little _aw_ clenched between his lips, a private smile that he immediately wipes from his face.

"Yeah, see you – yeah, tomorrow, man, goodnight."

Liam watches Zayn go, socked feet sliding down hardwood floors to his own bedroom. As far as puzzles go, tonight was like a four-thousand piece landscape that Liam feels like he's been putting together in the dark. It kind of felt like there was a lot more going on than just a fight about a guest bedroom, but then Liam knows he's kind of rubbish at picking up on those kinds of things. Half the time when Ruth gets mad at him, Liam just apologizes and hugs her because he really has no idea what he did and it just seems easier to fall on his sword than to fight her.

It's only when Liam sits down on the plush guest bed in the empty, silent bedroom that he kind of clues in a bit. It's just that, when he thinks about it, he really wouldn't mind sleeping in a messy bedroom covered in Zayn's dirty clothes and the coffee and cigarette smell of him.

*

It's early when Liam wakes up, most of the house still sleeping. There's a smell of some kind of sausage breakfast being made downstairs, the only open bedroom door upstairs belonging to Zayn's mum. Tip-toeing down the hall, dressed only in a loose t-shirt and boxer shorts, Liam ducks into the bathroom and runs himself a hot shower.

Liam amuses himself for a bit sniffing all the different body washes, settling finally on a satsuma scrub he remembers smelling in Zayn's hug last night. He takes a long time under the hot spray, getting rid of the winter-morning chill in his bones, long enough that by the time Liam turns off the shower and wraps a towel around his waist Zayn has woken up, rapping his knuckles against the bathroom door.

"It's me," Zayn says.

Liam unlocks the door for him and Zayn slips inside, dressed in a muscle shirt that shows off the shiny darkness of his half-sleeve, ratty tartan pyjama bottoms slung low on his hips, messy hair and a sleepy smile. The bathroom is quite small with the both of them in it but Liam doesn't mind. This is nothing compared to the tour bus, five boys and one bathroom on wheels, crushed and cramped and fighting for space in front of the mirror. Being pressed up with Zayn in a warm, citrus-steamy bathroom while they brush their teeth is hardly new. He smiles at Zayn in the reflection, both of their mouths foamy with toothpaste, Zayn occasionally elbowing Liam as he brushes.

"Diju sweep ogey?" Zayn asks.

"Mmhm," Liam mumbles.

"Mms maggin bagon sanwishes," Zayn says, spitting once into the sink and going back to brushing.

"Coow," Liam says.

Liam is spitting out his toothpaste and taking a sip of water from the Zayn's glass when Doniya opens the bathroom door, a bundle of towels in her arms and a look of surprise turning quickly to smugness.

"Oh," she says, eyeing Liam up, still shining wet with a towel knotted around his waist, and then shooting an incredulous _really?_ look at Zayn. "You know, you really should lock the door if you're going to do that."

Liam blinks at her. "Brushing our teeth?"

Zayn studiously ignores her, gargling a mouthful of water and spitting it out. "Get out, Doniya," he says limply.

"Did you at least scrub behind his ears?" Doniya asks Zayn, Liam still smiling between them in confusion.

"Get _out_ , Dee," Zayn says again, pushing her gently out the door.

"What about his back, that hard to reach bit?" she says, laughing now as she steps out of the bathroom.

Zayn slams the door on her and locking it, shaking his head in irritation. When he catches Liam looking at him questioningly, he just shrugs. "Just ignore her, honestly."

Liam brightens his smile but he feels just as lost as the strangely cluttered conversation they had last night. "Sisters, huh?"

"Yeah," Zayn says, huffing. He seems a bit shiftier now though, more wary of his distance with Liam, his eyes skittering over Liam's collar bones and chest where water is still beaded like dew. "Hey, you've still got –"

"Huh?"

"Here," Zayn says, "you've still got a little, uh." Carefully, he runs his thumb over Liam's bottom lip, cleaning off the last little bit of toothpaste. Zayn's cheeks go very pink as he does, and he snaps away from Liam in a quick turn, running his hands under the faucet and pretending like nothing happened.

*

The day burns away slowly, a lazy winter day with the sky cloudy and grey as a battleship, a perfect time for sitting toasty and warm curled up in front of the telly. They don't get many days to just relax – loads of chilling, Zayn says, waggling thumb and pinky like a surfer – so sitting with Zayn in the cloistered den of the living room watching old episodes of _Seinfeld_ and drinking a two-liter carton of orange juice passed back and forth just about tops the list of places Liam wants to be right now.

They shift every so often, the both of them at once like by some private code, but they always end up touching at least in part. The length of Zayn's arm against Liam's ribs; their ankles crossed together; Zayn's head half-resting on Liam's thigh. The little halo of heat, the red gemstone of touch glows like an ember on Liam's skin. It's not anything new – love like this is like a currency for their band, all five of them walking around like their pockets are full of loose change – but something about being here, in Zayn's home surrounded by his family and his things makes it kind of special, like Liam's been let in on something secret. When Zayn runs his fingers along the round of Liam's knee it makes Liam smile bigger than it normally would, makes him cosy up to Zayn a bit closer, almost like he's thanking Zayn for letting him in on something so private.

"Hey," Zayn says, late afternoon. He pats Liam's leg and stands up. "I'm absolutely dying for a fag. I'll be back in –"

Liam hops up right after, not wanting this delicate chain of the afternoon break. "Sure. Let me get my coat."

"It's not that cold," Zayn says, but he shrugs and slides his hands in the pockets of his pyjama bottoms.

They go out to the front porch, Zayn mumbling something about his mum and bad habits and it's not worth the yelling. The day is windy and cold, everything washed out from the dull winter sky like smeared newsprint. They sit on the front step together and Zayn taps a Marlboro from its red and white pack, dangles it between his lips and sucks in a little flicker of fire. His first exhale is long and smooth, a blue cone of smoke pushed out into the suburban streets.

"Thanks for inviting me," Liam says, bumping his shoulder against Zayn's when he says it. "It was kind of exactly what I needed."

"What was?" Zayn asks, cigarette balanced between his second and third knuckles, tilting his head to look at Liam. His hair is still messed up from sleep, rough curls and the electric shock of his bleached streak. He carries with him that perpetual feeling of the holiday and the house, that soft and private thing that feels uniquely reserved just for Liam.

"Like, just, cosiness and nothing and time to just, like, be," Liam says. "I like _being_. I like being with you." Liam pauses on that, taking in Zayn's little smile. "I had this crazy thought yesterday, like. I imagined if we were just normal and went to Uni together and wore coats and scarves while we walked to class together. Like I just had this whole image in my head of us being together in another life, just like this. It was kind of funny."

"In another life?" Zayn asks, smoke filtering between his lips as he speaks.

"Yeah, like, we don't live that far apart. We could have met, even without the band. Like, I think we would have. Being here, it just feels like we ought to be friends, you know? Like no matter what happened we should have been friends." Liam's just kind of rambling now, letting the thoughts roll off his tongue, loving how easily the images of their what-if life bloom into being. Zayn's hands in fingerless gloves fixing Liam's tie before a job interview, or lying next to Zayn on a rough-carpet floor reading a comic book while he revises for his Shakespeare final. When he turns to look at Zayn, Zayn is looking back with a mix of laughter and rosy-red fondness.

"You think?"

"I reckon," Liam says, bumping his knee with Zayn's. "Some good things just oughta happen, no matter what."

Zayn nods, and smiles at the ground, and then shivers through his whole body. "Ok, it might be that cold."

Liam stands up and, feeling that in the sweet caramel center of this conversation it's just the right thing to do, takes off his jacket and puts it loosely around Zayn's shoulders. He takes his seat next to Zayn again and puts an arm over his shoulders, rubbing his arm for heat.

"There you are, I should have known," Tricia says into the silence, neither of them having heard the front door creak open. They both turn to look at her, Liam's arm dropping away from Zayn. "No, sorry, don't let me interrupt." She seems like she has something to tell them, but she just keeps smiling, glancing between Liam and Zayn. "Just look at the two of you, it ought to be such a change but you seem exactly as you were before."

"...mum?" Zayn asks, tossing his cigarette into the wet mulch of the flowerbed. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, right," Tricia says, focusing again as she tucks her fond smile away. "Your dad's home in an hour and then we're going straight to the restaurant. Make sure you're all ready by then."

"Don't worry about us," Zayn says.

"Of course I won't. Bless," she says again, her voice going to that soft place, "look at you two. Lovely, isn't it?"

"What is?" Zayn asks flatly. 

"Never mind me, back as you were," Tricia says, stepping back into the house and closing the front door behind her. 

When Zayn meets Liam's gaze again, he looks as confused as Liam feels. 

"Do you know –"

"Nope," Zayn interrupts quickly. "I really don't."

"Oh," Liam replies.

"Yeah."

They don't talk much more after that, but Liam threads his arm over Zayn's shoulders again.

*

It hasn't been that long since Liam has seen Zayn's father, but he's always shocked by how similar they look. Same laughing smile, same warm eyes, same general air of a rockstar that just rolled out of bed. Where Zayn is waifish and thin his dad is broad-chested and bulky, where Zayn is more delicate in his eyes and wrists his father is rougher-hewn, but they're unmistakably father and son.

When he arrives home, the first thing he does is scoop Zayn into a tight hug, pressing a few soft words into his collar. Zayn grins hugely at him, clings tightly to the back of his dad's jacket, murmuring _hi, abbu _into the silence.__

__Liam is hovering a little out of the way, smiling shyly at them and remembering once again how being here in Zayn's life is so much more different than being with him in the band. Softer, a superstar turned into a son and a brother, just a kid again. Liam watches Zayn kiss his father on the cheek and then let go, taking a step back and raising an arm to bring Liam into the moment._ _

__"Told you we had a visitor," Zayn says._ _

__"Liam," Yaser says, his eyes crinkling with crow's feet when he smiles, like Zayn. "Glad you're here." He shakes Liam's hand, his skin soft and warm, like Zayn's. Liam has always liked Yaser, but he never really realised it had so much to do with how he reminded Liam of Zayn, all the gentle and kind and funny parts of him. "Zayn treating you well?"_ _

__Liam blinks quickly, but catches a quick smile to cover. "Sure. Of course. Always."_ _

__"Yeah," Yaser says, ruffling Zayn's freshly washed hair, "we raised him well. You're wearing one of his suits?"_ _

__"Uh, yeah," Liam says, touching a hand to the shiny black silk of the thin lapel. "I didn't bring one so I borrowed."_ _

__"Of course," Yaser says knowingly, though Liam isn't totally sure what that should be of course. "You fill it out nicely too. Handsome guy," he says, though Liam is pretty sure Yaser was speaking to Zayn. "I'll go get changed. Make sure your sisters are ready to go." He finishes the conversation by patting both Liam and Zayn on the shoulder in a way Liam would almost describe as _wistful_ and then heads up the stairs._ _

__Liam and Zayn only trade glances this time. Asking what the hell is going on is beginning to feel a little repetitive._ _

____

*

The Alderman is a Michelin-starred cottage just outside of Bradford with a parking lot filled with Porsches and new BMWs, the kind of place that decorates for Christmas only in tasteful white lights and cream and gold, demands jackets of its men, and has a sommelier. Standing in the crunchy gravel drive and scrunching his arms by his sides in the cold, Liam shuffles up next to Zayn and shields him a little from the winter. They're waiting as Tricia helps her youngest daughters out of the Volvo, their beautiful Christmas dresses and shiny lacquered shoes requiring a bit of fussing from the cramped trip over.

"Why are we here," Zayn moans, making Liam chuckle.

"Come on, it might be nice," Liam says, though he's beginning to have his doubts. He already feels weird being the only outsider tagging along to a family dinner, but combined with a restaurant like this and he's a little bit on edge. Even though Liam could afford to buy this restaurant and probably the rest of the block if he wanted, he'll never really feel like he belongs here. To make up for it, he sidles up to Zayn, the two of them pressed together to hide from the wind.

"At least we look good," Zayn says, straightening Liam's lapels with cold-shivering fingers. "Matching suits, hey."

Liam smiles. The borrowed suit is just a bit too small for Liam, a little short in the cuffs and trousers. It's not a style Liam usually wears, much too thin and svelte and Armani; he feels like a miscast James Bond while Zayn wears it with that perfected air of cigarettes and _fuck you_ that Liam likes so much. "You were wrong though, you wear that suit a lot better than I do."

"Shut up, man," Zayn says, nudging Liam's shoulder gently and looking away to bury the smile Liam knows he's wriggled out of him.

"You match," Doniya says matter-of-factly as she joins them, huddling against the winter wind.

"Yeah," Liam says, grinning at her. "Like Secret Agents."

"Sure," Doniya says, her mocking smile familiar and funny to Liam now. "That too."

"Doniya," Zayn says.

"Yeah, yeah," she replies trying to ruffle Zayn's hair as he dodges away. "Shut up, I know."

"Hey," Waliyha says, joining them next. "You match."

"Yeah," Zayn says, his enthusiasm for this game already waning. "We do."

*

After forcing a smile and agreeing with his parents that, hey, yeah, they _do_ match, Zayn already seems tired of this family outing. He sticks by Liam's side at the back of their family train, his head bowed slightly and avoiding the eyes of pretty much everyone but Liam. He scuffs his shoes on the slate stone flooring and bumps his hips lazily against Liam's as if to make it obvious that he could not care less about anything right now. He's acting a bit petulant, like he gets on his moody days, but somehow having it directed at the restaurant and not the boys makes it rather endearing, another little picture of Zayn Liam never got the chance to see before.

"It's just because we look damn good," Liam says, reassuringly. "This isn't like two girls going to a dance in the same frock." Liam never really knew why that was a big deal to begin with, but television and films seem to treat it like the end of the world. "Just admiring, mate."

"Lovely," the waitress says as she seats them at a large round table near the back of the restaurant, lost in the dim lighting and ruby-red mahogany of the furniture. "Look at you two," she says, placing the menus down on Liam and Zayn's plates. "Very handsome."

"Yeah," Zayn says, through gritted teeth as Liam tries to hide a chuckle. "We wore the same suit."

"It's a nice suit," the waitress says working her way around the table and proffering Tricia with a wine list.

"Yeah," Zayn says again, raising an eyebrow. "It is."

"Aren't they handsome?" Doniya says, and it doesn't really sound like a compliment. "Matching, even."

"We didn't really plan on it," Zayn says, his voice nearing bitterness. "They were the only clean suits I had at home."

"You look wonderful," Tricia says, and there's even something a little gently mocking in her voice too. 

"Yes, thank you, mum," Zayn says. "Well spotted." Liam puts a hand on Zayn's shoulder then, patting him there and then letting it rest. He knows how it can be, coming back to a family that insists on treating you like you're still thirteen, but it really doesn't seem to be the big deal Zayn is making it out to be. So they match, it's not that unusual considering they spend a lot of time matching at awards shows and public appearances. Liam does have to admit there is something odd in the way waitress' eyes flicker between Liam and Doniya – seated across the table from each other, definitely not an item, if that's what she's thinking – and then back to Zayn, but then again they're celebrities, they're bound to draw some extra attention.

"I'll be back in a moment for your orders," the waitress says, giving Liam one last knowing smile that he returns with a blank one of his own. 

"I hate this place," Zayn mutters.

"Hush," Tricia says, putting a hand over her husband's hand as she does. "We just think you two look very nice together."

Liam looks at Zayn then, giving him a bemused smile. "I mean, we kinda do. I can't believe I'm still kind of your size. It fits nice."

"Don't encourage her," Zayn says under his breath.

"You wanna split half your starter and share with me?" Liam asks, opening his menu as the rest of the table go for theirs. "Everything here looks amazing."

"Sure," Zayn says, shrugging. "Get whatever, I'm game."

Doniya laughs, loudly, and even Yaser smirks down at his menu. Liam looks up then, around the table, at the buried snickers and the look of fondness on Tricia's face that she struggles to hide. Liam hasn't spent that much time with Zayn's family, but he's beginning to really feel like there's something going on behind his back, some family ritual or inside joke. Judging from Zayn's expression, though, he doesn't seem to be in on it either. Being away from home can do that to you, things moving on while you're away, but if Zayn's so annoyed about it he must know at least a little of what's going on, enough that it bothers him. It seems to hover all around them at all times, like an electric fog, bristling with little chuckles and hidden smiles directed at Liam and Zayn even though they're really not acting much differently than they ever do.

"What?" Liam asks, looking up doe-eyed at Zayn's smiling, smirking family. "Is it too fancy? Can we not do that?"

"You do what you like, love," Tricia says, squeezing Yaser's hand. 

Liam looks at Zayn. Zayn looks back. When they turn back to their menus they're frowning slightly, brows knitted, waiting for the joke to have a punchline.

*

The sigh Zayn gives when they get back home – sequestering themselves immediately in his bedroom – is as long and slow as blowing smoke. Liam doesn't know why this seems to be bugging Zayn so hugely, why those coy little smiles from his family seem to make him cynical and irritated, but he's still willing to comfort him about it. Their friendship has always been something a lot of people seem to pick up on very quickly – interviewers and old friends from back home and even their roadies – so it's not so strange that his family would notice, too. If Liam didn't know better he'd almost say Zayn was ashamed of it, like he didn't want them to see how close they are, or at least have them stop reminding him about it. If Liam really, honestly didn't know better.

"Sorry about – well, all of that," Zayn says, rolling his shoulders and letting his jacket slide from his shoulders. "Fuck, I need a cigarette. I love them, but I swear they know exactly how to make me crazy."

"They're all being kind of sweet, though, when you think about it. They like having you home, they want to tease you," Liam says, carefully taking off his own jacket and hanging it in Zayn's bedroom closet. He takes off his socks next, unbuckling his belt and letting it hang loose from his hips. "I don't think they mean any harm."

"No, I know," Zayn says, toeing off his own socks. "I just wish they'd quit snickering at us."

"You aren't –" Liam pauses, frowning. His bare feet are cold on the hardwood floor, and the room smells exactly like Liam thought it would, slightly gross and boyish and familiar. Zayn is still upset though, and that kind of bothers Liam in a way he's never really felt before. Liam just thinks that this isn't something to be frowning about, not when it's kind of silly and nice and warm, family and friendship jousting gently. "You aren't, like, embarrassed by me, are you?"

"What? No," Zayn says sharply. "It's not like that at all."

"Oh," Liam says. "Okay." He pauses then, watching as Zayn tucks a cigarette out of its pack and goes to his bedroom window, cranking it open an inch and sitting loosely on the sill. "Because that really seems to bother you. When they talk about us."

"I just – they think they're being so clever about it. I just want them to, like, relax. Just let us be us, have some time to just chill." Zayn sucks in some fire and breathes out some smoke. He seems a little shifty about the question, like he's only touching the tip of an iceberg that sinks low in his chest. "I just wanted a nice time with you and they're being so – I don't know, cloying and smarmy." Zayn shrugs, tapping the ash from the tip of his cigarette out the window. "They're just being annoying because I've never brought a friend home for Christmas before and they won't let me live it down. Especially because it's you."

"You've never?"

"No," Zayn says. "I mean, it's never been that big a deal, my friends all used to live a few minutes away, not Wolverhampton. And it's not like we're all that big on Christmas in the first place. I just wanted some time with you and they're acting like – I don't even know. They're acting weird."

"Yeah," Liam murmurs, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. "They kind of are," he adds, trailing off. 

"Whatever, who knows what they're thinking," Zayn says, laughing a little, and it's a nervous laugh. "I love them but sometimes I really have no idea what they're on about." 

The air coming through the open window is brisk and cold and freshly new. Despite it, Zayn tucks his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and goes about unbuttoning his shirt, letting it hang open. A thin brush of hair trickles from his bellybutton to the lip of his trousers, his skin in this light like dull bronze. Liam stares at the lip of Zayn's navel for a moment, watching the slight flex and release of each of Zayn's breaths feathered on his ribs. Liam catches himself staring so he darts to meet Zayn's eyes and he knows he's been caught. Even so, Zayn is still smiling and doesn't really seem to care, just giving a raise of his eyebrows and a short shrug of indifference. Liam blushes a little and reaches forward to poke a finger into the middle of Zayn's tummy, the hard plane of muscle, getting the wriggle and laugh out of Zayn that he was looking for. Zayn paws gently back and it's right then, just all of a sudden in that tiny fragile playfight, that a loud and sharp click goes off at the front of Liam's mind, a rush of white hot blood through his veins. Zayn is still looking at him fondly, half-dressed, and Liam stands there, half-dressed, his hand lingering on Zayn's hip for a moment before pulling away like he's been shocked.

"Oh," Liam says like he's been hit in the sternum, turning to Zayn with his eyes wide and running his hands back through his hair. "Oh my God, that's it. Your family, they must have thought – like, because you invited me back home for Christmas and, oh, God – they think we're boyfriends."

Zayn coughs on his exhale, a smoker's cough throaty and sharp and spluttering. Liam stares at him in dawning horror as Zayn coughs into the crook of his elbow. "No, no, no – no, I don't think." He pauses. "No, no."

"The weird way they keep smiling at us, the thing about your room, the bathroom this morning, _we raised a good son_ oh my God, oh my God they think we're dating," Liam says, his voice raw and small. He'd almost be proud of himself for piecing the clues together and not being an oblivious dolt for the first time in his life if he wasn't so totally mortified at what he's stumbled on. "Zayn. Like. Zayn. Oh my God. You invited me over on the two weeks we have apart. _And I came_. They must think we. Oh."

Zayn's eyes are wide, a twitch at the corner of his mouth that tries to smooth out with a breath of smoke. "Fuck. _Fuck_. Yeah, I – fuck. I have no fucking idea why they're doing it, I swear –" 

"You knew?" Liam says. It all kind of slides into place; the irritation, the shiftiness, the pink high in his cheeks when his mother or sisters tease him. Zayn must have known, trying his best to dodge them, to avoid the traps they'd cleverly laid for them in fancy restaurants and meeting the whole family and – oh, God, not letting Liam sleep in the same room with Zayn had nothing to do with being polite. "You knew the whole time?"

"I really hoped you wouldn't notice," Zayn says, a little helplessly. "It was a long shot, but. They're just being too obnoxious about it and I swear I didn't even know what they were getting at until you came and. Fuck, man, they're just trying to wind us up."

"But they weren't always like this, right? Something had to have changed," Liam says. He's been friends with Zayn from the very start, through the early months, but he honestly hasn't noticed a single change in how they've acted since then. So they spend a bit more time together than usual, so they talk late into the nights more often than they don't, so Liam has Zayn in his phone under _Bad Boy_. These are just dumb little things in a collection of best friends, small facts that naturally build up over the months. Squeezing hands when Zayn gets a tattoo, remembering how he likes his tea so Liam can take care of Zayn when he's being moody, sneaking out during tour to see _The Avengers_ with him four times in theatres. They've been best mates from start, it's only natural that the collection of those burnished-gold moments has grown over time.

"Only since I asked mum if you could come and visit a couple of weeks ago. And by the time I figured it out you were on your way here and I just didn't want – I didn't want it to change anything between us, just because they're being idiotic, I didn't want it to mess up our holidays. And I still have no idea _why_ they think we're – why they might – I mean, I don't know," Zayn says, fading into a mumble. His cigarette has been ignored, an inch of ash dangling from the tip. Zayn gapes for a moment, his eyes flickering back and forth like he's looking for something to grab a hold of. "I only asked if you could come over. It wasn't even that big a deal. My mum almost suggested it. I haven't even done anything different and – _fuck_."

"I mean," Liam says, pinching the bridge of his nose, "we do do a lot of things together. Like, just me and you. Shopping and stuff. Going to concerts. Getting take away. I mean they might think – I guess they just thought we – I guess they just saw us doing all that and. Oh my God I have no idea, how am I supposed to know? I'm so lost, I can't even tell when someone is flirting with me how am I supposed to know why they think we're dating?"

"I honestly have no idea," Zayn says. "I didn't say anything I don't normally say. So I talk about you to them a lot, you're my best mate."

"Best mates, yeah," Liam says, nodding. "Since the beginning. It shouldn't be a big thing." It's hard for Liam to imagine how someone outside their immediate circle would see their friendship, how their tiny little actions might reverberate louder than Liam or Zayn might have intended. Then again, considering how safe Liam feels right now in the dark of Zayn's bedroom with the kid half-dressed and somehow accidentally his boyfriend, Liam's not entirely sure if he ever understood how loud those ripples in the pond actually wear.

"But we're, like, mates, they know we're mates," Zayn says, taking a shaking drag from his cigarette. "Every time I call back home I just tell them about the stupid things we do together, how much I like you, how you're my best mate, why would they turn that into –" Zayn stutters on that and stops, his brow knitting.

"They're – they're just being daft," Liam says lightly, even though his brain is still crashing about inside his skull in a flurry of panic and nerves and a weird kind of skipping delight. It's obviously ridiculous and more than a little embarrassing but Liam won't lie, he kind of likes that his little friendship with Zayn can be made into this kind of legendary mistake, that people really can see how much he loves his best mate, his bro, his Zayn.

"I think we should just, like, forget it," Zayn says slowly. "And ignore them. They're just having a laugh or something. We shouldn't, like, bring it up. I don't want to have that conversation," Zayn says, wreathing himself in smoke again. 

Liam's bottom lip hurts a little from how he's been chewing on it. "So, we just, like, let them continue thinking we're – that you and me –" 

"Easier than the, uh, alternative," Zayn mumbles, his voice not quite put together. "Let them think what they want. We know what we are. We know. Right?"

"Yeah," Liam says, trying not to sound as unsteady as he feels right now. "We do. Right."

"So," Zayn says, tossing the butt of his cigarette out of the window.

"Right," Liam says again. "Sleep?"

"Sure," Zayn says, looking at everywhere but Liam. "Goodnight."

"Night," Liam says, already making for the door.

*

Zayn's already sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal with his sisters when Liam comes down for breakfast. He gives Zayn a little wave and receives one in return before Zayn goes back to eating, his eyes glaring down at his cereal like he's trying to read a hidden code in the Cheerios.

"Breakfast?" Tricia asks, nursing a cup of coffee and a newspaper at the kitchen island. "Zayn's having Cheerios. You too?"

Liam swallows hard. Suddenly every sentence is a loaded question, matching suits and matching cereals, and it's ridiculous but Liam actually blushes. "No, I'm. I'm not hungry, thanks."

"Coffee?"

Liam glances at the kitchen table and Zayn's regular cup of black. "No, no. Tea, please?"

"We're going shopping," Zayn announces immediately after, almost shouting it like a declaration. "Liam and I are going Christmas shopping all day and we won't be here until dinner. We won't be here all day. Yeah." Zayn immediately turns back to his breakfast, frowning slightly.

"Oh," Tricia says, sweet and bright as always. "That should be lovely."

"No," Zayn says darkly, stabbing his spoon into his cereal. "It will be awful."

*

The family Volvo is a stick shift, so Zayn asks his father if he can use the Bentley. Liam stands there, already wearing his black peacoat and one of Zayn's scarves while Zayn hovers anxiously in front of his dad, Yaser watching football and reading _The Times_. He asks like a teenager trying to get a hold of the family car for a night, not the multi-millionaire who bought his father that Bentley in the first place. The scene fits in so nicely with Liam's image of their other life, that other world where they're feckless students up from the city for the holidays that he can't help but grin. Liam catches himself quickly though, every thought about how sweet Zayn seems suddenly suspect, another bit of accidental love that might go haywire.

"Be careful," is all Yaser says, tossing Zayn the keys. 

They drive down to Bradford city center, to the small tangle of a pedestrian market, parking in a locked complex and making their way side by side into the throng of shoppers. They're covered up enough – coats and aviator sunglasses and scarves, Zayn in a beanie – that no one takes much notice of them, just two kids with their hands in their pockets looking for a last minute present for family and friends.

It's cold but the wind has died down, leaving Liam with chapped lips and rosy cheeks. The place is filled with mothers and children, families out for a bit of last minute shopping, other kids their age smoking under eaves and laughing loud and raucous and young. Some of the stores spill out into the streets for the good weather – good in England being, of course, dry and just slightly above hypothermia – stalls set out with stuffed toys and flowers and Christmas decorations for sale. A halal butcher has lamb sausages cooking on an outdoor grill, the windows filled with shanks and skirt steaks and rotating cylinders of doner kebab. The air smells like peppermint and road salt and the raw spices piled up in colourful volcanoes in front of an Indian supermarket. 

"It's really pretty out here," Liam says. There are streamers and fairy lights and tinsel strung up between lamp posts, hung all along the market like a street party. It's a lot like downtown Wolverhampton in many respects, but the fact that it's Zayn's city and Zayn's life and Zayn's Christmas makes it glitter differently.

"Yeah," Zayn grunts, shrugging.

"Zayn," Liam says, stopping suddenly and making Zayn round back to look at him straight on. The traffic of shoppers flow around them like they're islands in a stream. "We know what we are," Liam says, solidly. He remembers their goodbye last night, and though Liam is still totally embarrassed by the situation he will not let it for a second keep him from the kindling love he has for Zayn. "It's just me and you out here, yeah?"

"Huh," Zayn replies bluntly, his mirrored sunglasses glinting as his shoulders slump.

"So, let's do us, yeah?" Liam says."Like we always do. Like everything is like it was. Normal."

Zayn pauses for a moment, and then grins ruefully. "Yeah, all right. Okay, yeah." He pats Liam's side gently, almost an experimental touch like he's testing the waters. He must be okay because he keeps his hand on Liam's hip as they walk.

They keep close together after that, bumping into each other every so often, settling into their gift of a day together. Liam loves Zayn's family almost as much as his own, but having a morning of being acutely aware of his every glance at Zayn makes being free and ignored and out here so much sweeter. Here he can still grab Zayn around the arm to tug him to some new toy in delight, an RC helicopter or a MechaDinosaur that moves. He can still bump his head against Zayn's shoulder when he's laughing so hard he's squinting. He can still brush Zayn's loose fringe from his eyes and pinch Zayn's cold-bitten cheeks because there's no one around who would care about them much, just the two of them knowing who they are and that makes it okay.

"HMV, yeah man, come on," Zayn says, dragging Liam away from a display of this year's obnoxious talking stuffed animal. 

The store is hot and crowded, long shelves totally scavenged from a 50% off sale, the cash registers dozens of people deep. Zayn pulls Liam away from the mess of the DVDs and towards hip hop and rap, finding a free set of earbuds at a listening station in the back corner of the store. They're hidden by tall shelves and stacks of posters (Liam spots three versions of his own face without even trying), and Zayn queues through the music selection until he finds something he likes. Putting the left earbud in, Zayn offers the right to Liam. The cord is short so they keep their heads together, huddled over the volume and track controls as Zayn presses play. 

"Know who this is?" Zayn asks as the first jangling beats come in, the wailing hook of a middle eastern flute.

"Jay-Z!" Liam shouts before he realises he probably doesn't need to be this loud, Zayn being right here. "Big Pimpin, right?"

"Remember when I first played Jay-Z for you?" Zayn asks. A hot wash of memory runs through Liam as he remembers staying up until two, three in the morning scouring Zayn's iPod in the X Factor house, the only light coming from the mp3 player lighting up their faces in pale blue. Jay-Z, N.W.A,, Kings of Leon, Tupac, Razorlight, The Cribs, Gorillaz, Raekwon, Arcade Fire, Kid Cudi, a hundred other things Liam had never heard of before. He liked all of it, he liked how Zayn seemed so eager to show him more and more, stopping tracks half-way through because there was something else he wanted Liam to hear immediately. 

"I called him Jay-Zed," Liam says, reddening at the memory.

Zayn laughs, leaning in to Liam so he's resting his head on Liam's shoulder. "My ears used to burn we kept those earbuds in for so long. I never gave a fuck, though."

"I remember," Liam says. "I was so amazed. I had never heard any of it. You knew so much, it was crazy. I – miss that." The word feels strange in Liam's mouth, like he hadn't really thought about it before but he knows immediately how true it is. "That was really fun. That was so special. I was always exhausted the next day, but. Whatever."

"It's how we first became friends," Zayn murmurs, more shy now that they're so close.

"Yeah," Liam says, his own voice dropping in turn. "It kind of was."

"Funny," Zayn says. "Who knew in two years later we'd be doing the same thing but in –" a slight laugh "– a very different way."

Liam doesn't really know how to reply to that. Zayn is bobbing his head a little in time to the music, just like he did up in his cramped bunk bed two years, and it just feels normal for Liam to put his hand over Zayn's, running his thumb over the ridges of his knuckles. Zayn doesn't flinch, he just chooses a new track before this one is even finished, always in a rush to share something new with Liam.

*

They get bored of shopping pretty quickly. They'd both already bought most of the presents they'd need for Christmas back in Los Angeles and New York, so they just end up wandering aimlessly around the marketplace to burn time, buying a paper cone of chips they share together, free samples of fudge and caramel outside of a sweet shop, saying hi to the puppies in the pet store.

"Hey, you seen _Skyfall_ yet?" Liam asks, slowing down as they walk past a wall full of billboards, the posters half-ripped and revealing years and years of different colours underneath, an archaeology of old films. Zayn slows too, taking his place next to Liam, their hands just brushing slightly where they rest by their sides. 

Zayn raises his eyebrows. "I think we have our afternoon sorted."

"Brilliant," Liam says, grinning. "Movie date." He stutters and stops when he realises what he's said, heat rushing through his chest and into his cheeks. "Uh."

"Let's do it," Zayn says, his voice careful and even. "My treat."

Liam isn't sure what to do, but he tries a smile, curling the corner of his mouth. Zayn glances over and nods his head towards the cinema at the top of the high street, a smile of his own. When they start to walk again, their hands brush by their sides. It doesn't take long for Liam to reach out and find Zayn, linking their pinkies together, their hands swinging loosely back and forth, joined at one very small, very strong point.

*

Their showing, a matinee that cost just five quid (Liam would have made Zayn pay for the popcorn too if Zayn didn't volunteer his wallet first,) is an enormous and empty theatre. They get free run of it, any seat they like, and even despite that they gravitate to the middle of the back row.

Tossing their coats and scarves on the empty seats next to them, they kick up their boots on the headrests and slink down into their seats. The lights drop only a few minutes later, leaving them huddled together next to a mountain of winter coats in a thin darkness, their faces only caught in the lashes of colour from the film screen.

All through the previews it's almost like they deliberately keep from looking at each other, staring straight ahead at coming features. Liam is acutely aware of every spot of contact between them; their knees bouncing together, Zayn's elbow pressing against Liam's ribs, their wrists touching on the shared armrest. Liam is also acutely aware that the both of them are sitting almost completely still, like each of them is unwilling to break those wrought iron links of their chain.

When the film starts, from shadows into light, Liam feels Zayn relax a little deeper, shifting towards Liam and keeping the hot beacons of touch alive. Liam takes his cue and buries down too, close enough that he can put his head on Zayn's shoulder, his hand over Zayn's on the armrest. The funny thing is it doesn't even feel different than any other day, and that under any other circumstance Liam wouldn't even be thinking about how easily their fingers link, or how much he likes resting his head against Zayn's, or how often he absently traces the tattoos on Zayn's wrist with his thumb. It's only because of that word hovering like a cloud above them, that strange little nimbus of _boyfriend_ , that Liam really looks at what he's doing, what he's always been doing, what he always wants to keep doing.

"Zayn," Liam whispers even though they're the only ones in the theatre. "You know what I was just thinking?"

"Actually," Zayn whispers back, "yeah." Liam can feel his fingers find their comfortable positions linked with Liam's own, their knuckles and a squeeze. "I probably do know what you're thinking."

"Like, I can kind of see why they –" Liam gives a little hum, thinking about the next words carefully, "– might get the idea that we. You know."

"Yeah, maybe," Zayn murmurs, still not looking at Liam but staring at the motorcycle chase on screen, "yeah, and we keep doing it without thinking, you know? Like I didn't even think about it until they started – you know."

"Yeah," Liam says, keeping the status quo and watching the movie, not Zayn. "I never really noticed but. We do. A little bit."

"I was thinking, and, like, I don't want it to stop, either," Zayn continues, his calm wearing down a little. "Whatever, uh, whatever that means."

"So if I –" Liam says, his throat dry, his lips chapped. "If I –"

"It would just make sense," Zayn says, and he turns to look at Liam for the first time since they sat down. His face is half-lit by the action on screen, one eye shadowed by his soft fringe, his pink lips chapped too. "If you did."

"Okay," Liam says, "I think I will." Leaning forward, Liam does the only thing that makes sense right now and kisses Zayn. It's a singularly bright touch that Liam opens up just a little, parting his lips and pressing a soft kiss to Zayn's chapped mouth, a soft smack of their first blending quickly into the heaviness of their second, and third, and fourth kisses. Zayn awakens to Liam, shifts himself so he's at a better angle then slumped in his seat. He runs a hand to the back of Liam's prickly, buzzed hair, Zayn's palm open and fingers spreading around the nape of Liam's neck to draw him in. Zayn opens his mouth, the wet of his tongue flicking against Liam's fat bottom lip, wetting the kiss a little, the slick of their mouths clean and sharp and tasting of sweets and malt vinegar. Liam crooks his index finger and touches under Zayn's chin, tipping his face up and drawing him in deeper. As if in response to him, to the touch and the demand of more, Zayn makes a soft and boyish sound in the back of his throat and, in a sensation that he wants to repeat over and over and over again, Liam can feel it buzz against his lips. 

"It's sort of funny," Liam whispers, pulling away only a fraction of an inch, their lips so close together. "This feels exactly like it always does. Just, you know, a little bit better."

Zayn laughs, a chuckle that he sucks in like a hiccup. "Liam?"

"Yeah?" Liam says, pressing his forehead to Zayn's shoulder and just breathing him in, the smell of him that Liam is so aware of now, the safety of his warmth that never had a name before.

"Thank you," Zayn says, his voice fractured and small.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Zayn says, looking at Liam again, crooked smile and gold eyes dancing in the half-light of the cinema screen, "just, like, thank you."

Liam is pleased but his words feel as broken as Zayn's voice. He leans forward and catches Zayn's mouth in another kiss, shorter and surprisingly shyer. "Zayn," he says, more of a mantra than a word, a pleasant vibration in his chest.

They watch the movie for another few minutes, not really doing anything other than lacing their fingers and dipping towards each other, when Zayn suddenly says, at full volume: "Oh, fuck, my family are going to be _insufferable_ when they find out they were kind of fucking right."

Liam laughs, and he touches the last of it against Zayn's mouth. "We don't even really need to tell them," Liam says, playing his fingers against the buttons of Zayn's spine at the base of his neck. "All we did really was meet their expectations. It'll be like nothing has changed."

"But I'll know," Zayn says miserably. "I'll know they were right first. _I'll know_ that it was kind of because of them that we – that – oh, God. I'll never live it down."

"Hey, there's some good news," Liam says, using his curled finger to tip Zayn's face closer. Zayn gives Liam an irresistible pout, all of sixteen again, the glaring name written in marquee lights stripped away from him by his hometown, by his home life. "We've still got two hours of film left."

*

The credits roll until their very end before Liam and Zayn even decide to move. They sit, hands linked, mouths a little raw from the brush of skin and stubble, as the last of Adele's voice trails off and the lights rise like a mid-day dawn. Liam blinks at the new light, at the empty amphitheatre of a cinema, and then at the boy by his side.

"So," Liam says, standing and grabbing for his coat. There's a part of Liam that's distantly worried that in the harsh white of the house lights that they'll each be less brave than in the huddled darkness of their backrow middle seats.

"Wanna get a coffee?" Zayn stands and, going on tip toes, plants a sharp smack of a kiss at the corner of Liam's mouth. "You're buying, though, just so you know."

Liam grins and accepts these terms unconditionally. 

Fearlessness is a funny thing. Liam had just assumed that they wouldn't be the kind of people to leave the cinema with their fingers locked and their hands swinging joyfully, so he's surprised with Zayn ducks one hand into Liam's pocket and clenches their hands together in the silk of his jacket liner. If they walk close together and at the same pace nothing seems that out of the ordinary, except, obviously, the flush of perfect red-hot blood Liam's got flowing from the pulsepoint on his wrist and up through his whole body. 

"You don't have to –" Liam murmurs as they get out on the high street and make their way to the nearest Starbucks.

"Fuck it," Zayn replies, two stupid words that, in this context, make up a whole galaxy of love.

The queue at Starbucks is stupidly long, but Zayn and Liam join it anyway. They pass the time playing one of Louis' favourite tourbus japes, bloody knuckles. They hold their fists out and try, in turns, to smash the other's hands hard enough to break skin. Liam has a higher threshold for pain but Zayn is faster and more agile, and gets in at least twice as many blows as Liam. Liam grits his teeth and carries on, his growl of _you're going down, Malik_ making Zayn laugh manically as he gets in another slam. 

Liam knows they're disturbing everyone in line, but the glow of Zayn's _fuck it_ keeps Liam laughing, and punching, and playing until Zayn slams down hard enough to bloody the skin of the index and middle knuckles of Liam's right hand.

"Shit, sorry," Zayn says, instantly grabbing Liam's hand and holding it, examining the cut skin and faint pink smudge of blood. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"You win," Lim says, absolutely grinning. Grinning for the stupidity of the game, for Zayn's sudden change from punk to friend, examining the wounds he himself inflicted. Grinning because Zayn presses his mouth to the busted knuckles and kisses them both. Grinning because, when they finally manage to place their orders and get their Christmas-red mugs of overpriced gingerbread lattes, Liam is beginning to feel an intense sense of perfect déjà vu.

They leave the Starbucks as soon as they've got their drinks. They've got nowhere in particular to be, so they just walk together, nursing their coffee while Zayn pairs his with a cigarette like an art school drop out. And that's it, this exact moment in time is so much like the vivid memory that Liam has been playing with since he arrived at Zayn's house it's almost shocking. Two kids in an entirely other world, living an entirely different life, but doing just this, and just as in love. Liam studying sound design at a technical institute, maybe, and Zayn with his fingers covered in printer's ink or gummy oil paints. Wandering teenagers coming in from the cold, Zayn going back home after exams and introducing his best mate to his city, the life he left behind when he moved down to London or Birmingham or wherever their imaginary schools have their campuses. Gently bullied by his family, bringing home dirty laundry to do, made vulnerable by smothering love. Sharing this Christmas together in every version of their lives.

Liam has pictured that small and shy Zayn a lot over the last couple of days, this version so unlike the one Liam is used to. But here they are, just like Liam imagined, and it feels like everything was meant to turn out this way. No matter who they might have been, no matter what path they might have taken, Liam feels like being here in the Bradford high street drinking coffee under a darkening sky and thousands of flickering Christmas fairylights was meant to happen to him. Liam doesn't have much reason to believe, but he really does feel like he and Zayn would have always found each other, after all, no matter what.

"What are you thinking about?" Zayn asks, taking a sip of his coffee, chasing it with a blow of smoke.

"Nothing," Liam says, bumping against Zayn and pressing a surreptitious kiss against his jaw, his cheek. He smells like coffee and cigarettes, and underneath that something undeniably Zayn. "Just, like, fate or something, I guess."

Zayn laughs. "That's a pretty fucking big subject, man."

"Not really," Liam says, smiling broadly and turning to look at Zayn, the constellations of Christmas lights on their strings splayed out around them like the Milky Way. "Sometimes it seems pretty simple to me."

End.


End file.
